Touch
by Librarian7
Summary: Lucky remembers her first meetings with Josef.
1. Chapter 1

Touch

Lucky was content. Josef had summoned her, and even if his attention had been drawn elsewhere, focused on some business matter by the time she arrived at his study, he had tucked her close under his arm as he carried on with whatever his conversation required. The low rumble of his voice entranced her, as always, the liquid tones of the French he was speaking washing over her. She understood nothing of the words, but his tone was pleasant, and he laughed, from time to time, his amusement evident.

Meanwhile, his hand stroked slowly down and up her upper arm, the slight friction of his cool palm against her skin signaling his awareness of her. They stood so, several minutes, as he spoke and listened, listened and spoke. Then, phone still to his ear, he smiled down at her, a crooked, almost apologetic smile. He began to move them to the couch, and soon she was cuddled against his chest, relaxed, relishing the feel of his hand smoothing along the outside of her thigh. She spent rather a lot of time, keeping her skin as silken and polished as possible, in the knowledge of his caresses. She let her arm relax down to rest on her leg, and her mind begin to float, turning unbidden back to the beginning.

There had been a time, a brief time, after she found the vampires, but before she found Josef. Before she became Lucky.

**

[i]Pulse! Many months ago…[/i]

Josef slid his hand into his pocket, unconsciously seeking the note Turbo had handed to him a few minutes earlier when she returned from, as she termed it, the "little freshies' room." Molly didn't often try to direct his attention to a new girl; she'd long told him he was perfectly capable of hunting up his own dinner. So when she did, he paid attention, and she'd never yet steered him wrong. He didn't need to look at the note again to remember its contents.

[i]There's one here tonight you ought to meet, you old pirate. Tall, red-headed, slender. Midnight blue dress. Calls herself 'Seven.' Can't say why, but she's right for you, Josef. Do yourself a favor, and find her before someone else does.[/i]

He'd been scanning the groups of girls wandering the club since then, without spotting her. Now, however, he thought he saw a long shining fall of hair, the red of it clear to his vampire senses, and began to maneuver closer through the press, tracking her as she moved. He liked what he saw, but Molly wouldn't have recommended a girl based on looks alone. Pretty ones, even pretty red-heads, were not that uncommon. He moved nearer. In this crowd, picking out her scent from the rest was impossible. If he'd known her, maybe, but there were too many strangers to sort out. He listened for voices in the cacophony, and found himself nearer the knot of girls, listening.

"Well, of course, Valmont is an evil seducer, but he redeems himself in the end…it's that Marquise de Merteuil—I'm probably not pronouncing that right—who is sort of a moral vampire. She sucks the virtue out of everyone around her. And she started with Valmont," the red-head was saying. The girls around her laughed nervously.

"You're not saying vampires are evil, are you?" one asked, glancing around. "You shouldn't say that here!" She caught sight of the tall man, his intense brown eyes focused on their group, and started, then giggled.

Curious, Josef shook his head, cautioning silence, closed the gap, reaching out to run a hand up the back of the red-head's bare arm. She felt the cool touch of his skin against hers, and turned, gray eyes widening.

He had to be vampire, she thought, surveying the tall, well-dressed man. His hand was too cold to be human. Too handsome to be human, too assured to be his apparent age. And there was something in his eyes, the warm whiskey brown of his eyes…her stomach turned a sudden flip, and she wasn't sure if it were fear or attraction. She caught her bottom lip in her teeth, waiting to see if he would speak.

"Dangerous Liaisons?" the vampire said, running his eyes down the length of her, enjoying the view. "I hear it's a good movie."

She followed his gaze, brushing, covertly, she hoped, at her dress, wondering if the blood spots showed. "I—I haven't seen the movie. The book is good."

"Really?" Intriguing indeed, he thought. "Perhaps you'd care to join me? We could discuss…Dangerous Liaisons." He smiled, and a hint of fang glinted in the flashing lights of the club.

The girl who called herself Seven nodded, catching her breath. She found it unlikely that she'd be able to say no to this one. Ever.

She jumped slightly when the vampire put his hand at the small of her back to guide her through the crowd to his table. He smirked as she looked up at him. "It's all right, sweetheart," he said. "I'd like to tell you that I don't bite, but we both know that's not true."

"Well, you know that's not necessarily a bad thing." She was trying her best to sound cool and collected, but wasn't sure how well she was succeeding.

If she'd giggled, Josef thought, he might have walked away on the spot, but she gave a wry twist to her mouth in appreciation, instead, and gave him back a teasing comment. He liked that. He was wondering, however, how she'd managed to get blood, not her own, on her dress.

Seven got even more nervous when she realized they were on their way to the VIP area. One of the first times she'd been in Pulse, she'd been warned against wandering into that part of the club. Mostly old ones there, and they get weird, she'd been told. "You didn't tell me we were headed for the nosebleed seats."

"That a problem?"

"No, of course not." She wasn't sure how she was moving her feet. Her entire consciousness was focused on the hand at her back, the chill of it burning through her thin dress. She stumbled, and his other hand was instantly on her elbow, steadying her, his touch sure and practiced. "Klutz," she muttered to herself, forgetting about vampire hearing, and blushed when he chuckled.

The table he guided her to was a generously-sized horseshoe booth, occupied by two sulky-looking women. He signaled them to move with a snap of his long fingers, and they complied without a word. As he assisted Seven to slide into the booth, he stopped one of the petite brunettes. "Turbo, take this to Molly," he said cryptically, handing her a folded bill, "and tell her I agree."

She slid a glance at Seven, and gave him an impudent grin. "She's never wrong, is she?"

"Not so far." He unbuttoned his jacket with an easy gesture, and slipped in beside Seven, turning his attention to her. "So, beautiful, what is your name?"

"Seven." She wasn't sure what to do with herself, and finally put her small beaded clutch on the table, resting her hands on it. "Not very flashy or creative, I know."

"I wouldn't worry about that. It's a nice change from all the 'Destinys' and 'Desirees.' How'd you come up with it?" He reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. She bridled a little at the touch, even though she knew how tactile the vampires tended to be. Josef was pleased with her reaction. Not too readily trusting, this one, he thought. Willing was one thing, easy was another. He did like to think there was a little seduction involved.

She shrugged. "It's always been a lucky number for me. And the first time I came here on my own, the doorman counted us in—I was number seven. So when someone asked me about a freshie name, that was what popped into my head. Pretty lame, huh?"

"I have a feeling seven might be a lucky number for me, too." He had been careful not to crowd her, but now that he'd had a chance to inhale her scent, to listen to the heated rush of her blood under the skin, he wanted more. He laid his fingers over her folded hands, and turned the upper one over, enjoying the feel of her unresisting flesh. He started to caress her forearm, tracing the path of the veins beneath the pale skin, pleased to see only a few fang marks there. He felt a slight trembling begin deep within her, heard her pulse begin to rise. "Tell me, sweetheart, how did you get blood on your dress?"

Seven bowed her head, embarrassed, her hair falling forward to sweep across the back of his hand in silken temptation. "Oh, I'm sorry. It was nothing. Just helping someone in the ladies' lounge."

"Oh?"

"Not all the—gentlemen—here are as courtly as you." It had been a mess, in fact, a girl with jagged wounds that simply refused to quit bleeding. Seven had very nearly walked out of the club, once she'd finished helping the attendant with the bandages. She hadn't been around the vampires long, and it still came as a shock to see the bloody, painful side of the equation. Sobering. And now here she was, sitting with someone who doubtless saw her as nothing more than a snack. She didn't even know his name.

"One does one's best," he said. He paused, resumed the slow stroking of her skin. She was gradually relaxing, losing the edge of fear he'd sensed, falling into the mesmerized state he wanted her to reach. He turned his face into her hair, enjoying the feel of it against his lips. His fangs were sliding out, not with an urgent thirst, but with a more gentle need. He thought he might take, if she were willing, a taste, and save the deeper drink for another night. This place was too public for him, anyway. He wasn't averse to dining in company, but he preferred to be seen only by those he could control more closely. Still, a taste would tell him so much more about her.

He pulled his head back, drawing her gaze, with the question in his eyes. She looked deeply into his face, reading as much as she could. Then she nodded, and he started to lift her wrist.

"Wait. I—I don't know your name."

The vampire was surprised. "I assumed—my apologies, Seven. I didn't mean to be rude. My name is Kostan. Josef Kostan."

Seven wondered if she was supposed to know something about this vamp, if he was a personage. While she could see from his bearing, his suit, and even the placement of his table in this club, that he was well off, and probably far, far older than his boyish good looks, she really had no way of knowing his true status in vampire society. Ah, well, at least she had a name for him now, she thought as he laid his lips against the skin of her wrist. He ran a cool tongue the length of her forearm, a delicate reconnaissance in search of the best place to sink his fangs, and she quit thinking about names and status. She barely felt his arm snake around her shoulders, she was so concentrated on the touch of his mouth.

She was shaking, hard, now, in anticipation of the pain she'd always felt, to begin. But there was only a quick shock, a white hot flash and then the ineffable pleasure of blood flowing, being drunk. He took three quick swallows, then, with a visible effort, checked himself, and she felt his tongue lave the wounds, stop the flow of blood. He gave a final kiss to her wrist, and raised his head, to see her expression troubled.

He'd taken so little, she worried he wasn't pleased with her. Not that it should matter, she supposed, but somehow it did. "Is everything all right?"

Josef licked a stray droplet from the corner of his mouth. "Of course. Why do you ask?" Then he saw her glance down at her wrist. "Oh, I see." He put his hand to her cheek, lifted her face gently. "It was just a taste, sweetheart. But it told me I'd like to know you better. This isn't the place for that. Do you have a card? With your cell number?"

"No. Sorry. I can write it down for you."

Shaking his head, Josef said, "You know, you aren't a very well prepared freshie." He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a antique gold card case, and extracted two cards. "Write your number on one of these, and keep the other one."

As she complied, he continued. "You'll get a call from a friend of mine, Belinda. An invitation to her salon. I'd be pleased if you'd attend."

"Salon?" She glanced at the card, which simply had his name and a cell number. Very elegant, very understated.

"I know it's an old-fashioned term. Really, just a gathering of interesting young ladies, such as yourself…I find it easier to get to know people in a quieter environment than this chaos." He waved a hand. "And I'd like to see you join the group. They'll like you there."

Seven found herself liking his manner more and more. "It sounds quite civilized. "

Josef smiled at her, the warmth of it touching his eyes, and she knew she'd be dreaming about that face. He gave her arm a last, lingering, caress, and even now it felt like cold fire against her skin. "Sweetheart, I have no need to be savage."

To be continued….


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

That was the beginning, Lucky thought drowsily. She was so comfortable here in his arms, so at home with him. She snuggled in closer, his ongoing conversation background music to her thoughts. The games they played, the dance between them, it all came down to these quiet moments, when she could rest in his arms.

She had no way of knowing how he felt, no way of knowing if he held any particular feelings for her. Sometimes she thought he must, but others, he seemed to be making sure she knew she was only one of the devoted crowd around him. She wondered, from time to time, if he was aware of her struggles with the situation, if he knew what it cost her. It was hard, sometimes, very hard, but for now, she was with him, and content.

As though he sensed her thoughts, he looked down, held the phone away from his ear for a second, and tilted his head down to give her one of those smoky looks that always sent her heart melting into her shoes. "Sorry to be so long. You okay, babe?" She nodded—what other answer would he expect from her?—and he rewarded her with an approving smile.

It was a good night for reminiscing, a good time to remember what the early days had been like.

**

Seven checked the address she'd scrawled on the back of the card one last time before she knocked on the door. She was at the right place. She put the card carefully back in her purse, and took a deep breath.

The vampire had told her someone would call, and he hadn't lied. The next day, 10:30 a.m. precisely—not too early, not too late—her phone had shrilled, the caller identifying herself as Belinda Cochran. The conversation had been cordial, if not particularly illuminating. She was invited to come and join the group, at this address. No, she needn't dress up, much. Mr. Kostan preferred an informal atmosphere. No, there was no telling when, or even if, he might stop by. No, no particular agenda or activities, just good company of like-minded individuals. Mr. Kostan simply wanted to offer a select group of young ladies an alternative to those horrid, noisy clubs in the evening. No, there was no telling who would be there, or how many. It was whoever chose to turn up for the evening. Anytime was fine, and stay as long, or as short, as you like, dear.

"Why do I feel like I've been cut out of the herd?"

A short laugh. "My, but I can tell already why Mr. Kostan wanted you invited. Do come and join us, dear. It's a very safe place."

She thought about not going, of course. It could be anything. No need to make up her mind on the spot; Belinda told her that while there was always someone on premises, most of "Mr. Kostan's girls" didn't show up until evening. She had to wonder, was she one of Mr. Kostan's girls? Just from that one brief meeting last night? The vampires had their somewhat inscrutable ways, she knew, but this seemed odder than usual.

It was only the work of a few minutes to Google Josef Kostan, and another few to dive into the university library's site and hit Lexis/Nexis. Even minimal research netted astonishing results. Josef, the vampire she had met the night before, was well known in financial circles, and from what she could glean in a quick search, several times richer than God. Articles marveled at his acumen, his philanthropy, and his youth. As far as the human world knew, he'd come out of nowhere, a few years ago, taken over the reins of a family empire, and started making money in a way that made more experienced financial whizzes weep in envy. His personal life was a cipher, no one knew exactly how old he was, where he had been educated, or, in fact, any details at all. Seven thought she could guess why. He kept business and pleasure separate, for a rather obvious reason, even if that wasn't exactly on the web.

She started wondering if somehow, with his first bite last night, she'd been marked off limits to the other L.A. vampires. That hardly seemed fair. She'd like to think she had some say in the matter, after all.

Here on the doorstep, she had to fight an urge to turn and run. These people—she had no way of knowing if they'd be friendly, or even if they were people she'd want to be friends with. She feared it would be a hothouse, filled with jealousy as they competed for the attention of the vampire. On the other hand, she was here by invitation from that same vampire, and one night wouldn't kill her.

Besides, it was her best chance of seeing Josef Kostan again.

While she dithered, the elevator dinged behind her, and in an odd way, the noise sealed her fate.

"Another one hesitating on the brink," a voice behind her said, with a peal of laughter. She turned to see the women who had been at the club with Josef. "You're Seven, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah." Both these girls were several inches shorter, pretty in an ethereal fashion that was very far from her own looks.

The one with the blue hair—Turbo?—pushed on the door. "Come on in. You wouldn't have found the place without an invitation, and Belinda's not much for ceremony."

The other girl nodded, smiling shyly, and the three of them crossed the threshold together.

Seven didn't remember too many details, later, from her first evening. She remembered Belinda, an older woman, maybe fifty, greeting her warmly, giving her what she called the "nickel tour." She'd already been impressed at finding the apartment, well, she guessed it was more of a penthouse, in such an upscale building. She also guessed that whoever Belinda was, Josef Kostan owned the place. If not the whole building. What Belinda showed her was a spacious, nicely decorated living area, with access on one side to a private rooftop terrace. A kitchen/dining area with a tasteful spread of healthy-looking snacks and one half-empty box of gooey bakery goodies. Belinda tsked over that, indulgently.

"These girls," she said, "always bringing in the sweet treats."

Two powder rooms. A fully stocked bar, "…although Mr. Kostan usually disapproves of drunkenness, for obvious reasons. And the Macallen is here for his consumption only." Belinda smiled. "He does like a good scotch, most evenings."

"He comes here often?"

"Oh, yes, child." Belinda ushered her into a quiet study, full of bookshelves and dominated by a leather couch. "Now this room is generally off-limits. Mr. Kostan invites freshies in here himself. You understand, he prefers not to feed from one with six others looking on."

"That seems very civilized of him."

Belinda looked straight at her. "While we're alone, one or two things you should know. We don't tolerate jealousy or bad behavior here. That will get your standing invitation revoked in a hurry." She smiled and laid a hand on Seven's arm. "Not that you seem the type, but I have to tell every newbie that.

"And another thing. Mr. Kostan's friend, Mick St. John, also comes by here frequently. I've never known him to feed fresh—not for the last twenty years, anyway—but he seems to enjoy being around humans who are, well, accepting."

"Oh?"

"Just be friendly and talk to him, you'll do fine."

Back in the main room, several of the girls were engrossed in a movie, while another worked industriously on her laptop, off in a corner. Seven found a seat, and pulled a book out of her purse, laying it in her lap. From what she could see, no one would take it amiss if she read, but she also didn't want to seem standoffish or unfriendly. A sense of pleasant anticipation settled over the room. Belinda had retreated to a small, elegant French writing desk, and busied herself with something. Seven was obviously on her own.

When the vampire did arrive, he seemed amused at the general rush to greet him. Seven felt awkward, being new, and thinking it would be out of place for her to claim greater acquaintance than she had in truth. She rose, watching the melee around him, book in one hand, her place marked by a finger between the pages.

After Josef had given his harem sufficient greetings, and settled down to luxuriate in their closeness, he smiled over at Seven. "I see my hothouse has a new bloom tonight."

The girl he called Turbo rolled her eyes and swatted at him. "Could that be any cornier?"

He smirked down at her. "Would it be better in a fake Transylvanian accent?"

"Euw."

Giving Seven a wry glance, he shook his head a little. "Pay no attention to these hooligans, Seven," he said. "I trust they've been friendly?"

Seven wondered if he could hear her pulse rate jump a little as he addressed her. "Oh, yes, of course."

"Good. What's that you're reading?"

"A novel." She blushed.

"Titled?"

"The—the Historian."

"I see." His look, she thought, was entirely piercing, as though he could see straight into her. "And do you think Kostova got it right?"

Seven shook her head, looking down, unable to meet his eyes. "They never do," she whispered.

He laughed at that, and then his attention was distracted by one of the other girls. A short time later, it was one of them he chose, ushering her into the private study with a quip. Seven thought some of the others seemed disappointed, but no one commented.

When Josef emerged, alone, a quick gesture brought Belinda over for a low-voiced conference. Soon after, he took his leave, the regulars lining up to give him a kiss on the cheek and receive a last caress for the evening. This ritual completed, he motioned to Seven to come to him.

Raising a hand to her cheek, he said, "I'm glad you came by tonight. I'd like to see you here again."

Seven nodded. "I think you will," she said.

At first, she told herself she wouldn't be going over to Belinda's every night, but somehow it grew easier and easier to drift by. As she came to know the other women there, she found her own apartment echoingly empty when she stayed home.

And then there was Josef. She found him endlessly fascinating, however he interacted with the freshies at Belinda's place. Acerbic of wit, tactile as a cat, she began to see a wisdom in his experience, and a sort of calculated kindness in his actions. She was never able to determine how he selected the freshie, or occasionally two, he would feed from; there was no set rotation and the faces present varied from night to night. Yet his fancy always seemed to light on the one most in need of his attention, or somehow most deserving. And when her own turn came up, she found that he took what he needed with exquisite care and grace.

Once, in those early days, when they were alone, she asked, "Don't you get tired of all this hooraw?"

He favored her with an amused smile. "Seducing my supper, you mean? There are nights when a bottle seems infinitely preferable." His expression grew more thoughtful. "Most times, however, the idea of a sweet little armful of willing girl on my lap is not such an unpleasant prospect." He paused. "And, sweetheart, living blood is never dull."

Seven looked down at her fingers twining nervously together. "Josef, you know, if you ever just want—a glassful, or something, I—"

"Are you trying to tell me gently you don't care for my bite?" he asked. "Not businesslike enough to suit you?" He sat back on the leather upholstered sofa, stretching his arms out along the back.

Seven was horrified. "Oh, no! No, I only wanted to—to please—you're laughing at me, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said. "Now sit down here and let me show you how businesslike I can be." He pulled her into his lap, but this time, when she offered up her wrist, he shook his head, using one hand to brush her long red hair back from her throat. "Do you trust me?" he breathed against her neck, the cool rush of air from his lips causing her to quake.

"Yes," she said.

He was not the first to take blood from her throat, but she had never felt it the way he made it feel for her that night. She hadn't needed Belinda's oblique hints before that, now she was one of "Mr. Kostan's girls," the freshie clubs were no place for her anymore. That was all right; she had no desire to go. She wondered if she was giving up something of herself too easily to this charming, ancient enigma, but by the time the thought occurred, the deed was done.


End file.
